The Wind In The Valley

 I lay in bed but I do not sleep.

The wind's hiss is loud in the valley between Mansourieh and Hazmieh, 

in between my home and your home, I wonder how is your companion doing there on the hazmieh side, 

as my significant other turns in bed next to me.

The creaking of the door does not tire and the chairs, outside on the blacony, move carried by the wind one milli at a time creating a daunting stomp. Stomp.

I lay in bed and I do not sleep,

I think of you my dearest,

I did not say goodbye.

You live in the spaces in between, in the vast valleys, carried by the wind or down in the stream. 

You live in the spaces in between, in between your friend who is now my friend, who is far far away on another continent, yet we speak not of you, but both, only of you we think every time we connect, and we speak only to thread the void  you left in both of us with the warmth of your memory.

You live in our common spaces, on a fridge as a card, between a children 's book pages you got to Hana, on mugs carrying hot drinks and mugs carrying pens on office desks.

You live in the narrow space, in the conversations between my husband and myself, you, our friend, our only truly, equally friend of both. 

The wind blows in the valley and I can not sleep. 

- to Zee